Page 61 of The Spiral

Chapter 22

Madeline

I can’t breathe, don’t want to. I’ve lain here for so long, nothing but tears coming to choke whatever breath I had left when I saw him, that I’ve run out of air to pull in. He’s dead. Here beneath my body. Killed by my hand, the bullet holes trickling out the blood I’m lying in. I don’t know how, and no matter how much I’ve screamed out her name, or screamed out Jack’s name, no one’s come to help. I’m alone with him on this ground.

Guilt racks through me with every passing second. It courses through every fibre I’ve got, filling me with dread and torment as I try to will him back to life under my hands. He might have been a monster, might even have been the man who abused me to the point of near death, but he didn’t have to die.

He didn’t have to die.

“Why?” mumbles out of me. “WHY?”

I don’t even understand what happened. Selma wanted the men dead. She made me do it somehow, made me stand and point that gun at them. I felt her inside me, twisting my hand, forcing me into it because of her pain. And I did it for her. I did. I looked at all three of them, looked at the fear wide in their feral eyes, and pulled the trigger anyway.

Bang, bang, bang.

She said she wanted to be free of them, that she wanted to kill them. I didn’t even flinch, somehow strengthened by her push behind me and the chill from her touch, but not this. I didn’t shoot Lewis. I didn’t. Oh god please tell me I didn’t. Someone tell me this isn’t real.

My fingers rough the stone in my grasp, as if it’s the only thing that’s grounding me. He’s still warm beneath me, and I can almost feel his chest rising and falling if I close my eyes tightly enough, hear his heart thundering away. Bang, bang, bang. The noise keeps rumbling through me, shot after shot, the sound of their bodies hitting the ground as they fell coming, too. It’s never-ending, filling me with hatred for myself, hatred for her, and even hatred for a man I thought I loved in some way—Jack.

What was the point if they’re not here with me now? Why? Why make me do all this if only to leave me alone and lost again.

A distant sound comes at me from somewhere in my mind. I let it wash through me, not caring for anything but lying here some more, trying to find some explanation for my actions. There’s nothing, though, no matter how long I lie here. I killed my husband, the smoking gun still on the ground beside me showing the truth for all to see. It makes me curl in on myself, coiling tighter to shield myself against anything in the tangible world they’ve plunged me back towards.

“Madeline?”

My eyes crack open slightly, the sound of a man’s voice taunting me with that real life. I don’t want it. I don’t. I don’t deserve it now. I’m no better than the body I’m lying on, worse actually. It makes me spiral inwards further, knees pulling up to my chest as I stare at the grey stone in my grasp and try to keep listening for a heartbeat in this soaking chest I’m on. None. Dead. Nothing but ooze and gore, his blood still warm and wet against my ear.

“Can you move? Jesus.”

Move? Why would I move anywhere? I can’t remember doing anything of my own volition lately. It’s all been about them and what they want, what they need. It’s never been about what Madeline wants, what Maddy needs. He never even saw me, did he? It was always her he saw when he looked at me, always her he felt when he held me. And now they’ve gone. They’ve gone and left me to deal with the aftermath of their actions on my own.

“Hold still. Don’t move a muscle.”

I’m not moving any muscle. I’m staying right here with Lewis, hoping to cling to what memories I have of the Seine and his smile. Why did he have to turn into that monster he became? Why? None of this would have happened if he’d just been the man I fell in love with. We should be in our garden now. In love. Happy. Instead he’s here, his body decomposing with every breath I pull in and out. I can’t even blame them. This was me. My hand. My body.

I sigh into him, a passive lull settling as the weight of my actions finally begins to find a home inside me. It’s getting colder with each passing minute, my bones sensing the loss of heat from him. Maybe when he’s as icy as Selma’s fog I can figure a way out of what I’ve done, find something to tell the police when they come for me.

A sharp shriek catches my strained attention, pulling me from my blurry haze. It’s my crow. He’s there, hopping about in the fog, wings batting the mist towards me and clearing the view in front. I smile a little at him, my hand relaxing its grip on the stone, not knowing if he’s real or not but finding comfort in something familiar. He reminds me of Selma’s ring, of the love they shared and the warmth I felt with them. I hope they’re happy now, I do. I hope they’ve found each other again somehow, even if it does mean I’m alone.

He jumps, gliding over the murk to land by my side, his sharp beak nipping by my hand on the stone.

“What do you want now?” I mumble, my throat scratching. He pecks again, furiously flapping and fidgeting to rouse my attention further.

“Just hold onto him. I’m nearly there.”

I shake my head at the sound of the man’s voice behind me again, not giving a damn if he’s nearly here or not. I don’t even know if he’s real or not, let alone what he’s coming for. And if he’s coming to help me, he can turn back around and go home. I don’t deserve help. I’m as damned as Jack was with his dogs, as loathsome in my vengeance.

The crow shrieks again, louder and more intent. I squint, trying to shield myself from his wings as he keeps up his unrelenting tantrum.

“What?” He pecks again, feet jumping in front of me, then moves to the side and pecks again.

“Don’t let go of him ‘til I get there.”

Who? The crow?

Something grabs at my ankle, grasping it tightly and beginning to pull. I slide backwards a little, causing reality to come crashing in around me as wet ground sluices my lips. My leg kicks out, fear tearing through my body as I haul on the stone to pull myself away from whatever it is. The crow flies up, his wings flapping, talons reaching towards my face and then over my head.

“What the fuck?” the voice shouts behind me, a sudden aggressive lilt to his voice. I spin sluggishly to the sound, watching as the man tries to bat my crow away. “Just hold onto that damn stone until I can get to you.”

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